VERSES FOR 

A LITTLE 

MAID 





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VERSES FOR A LITTLE MAID 
BY JAMES PLAISTED WEBBER 




BOSTON 
HANSON HART WEBSTER 

M DCCCC XX 






COPYRIGHT, I92O 

BY 
JAMES P. WEBBER 



©CU604515 



TO 
BETTY OF SUNNYSLOPE 

The unfettered freedom of its breeze, her ways 
Her voice, the music of tts singing brook ; 
Her long-lashed eyes, its shaded violet-nook ; 
Her smile, its flood of light on summer days. 



CONTENTS 



MY BREVIARY .... 

TO MASTER ROBERT HERRICK 

THE HUMBLE-BEE 

SUNNYSLOPE .... 

WILL O' THE WISP SONG . 

TO CffiSAR ON HIS COMMENTARIES 

THE SPIRIT-CHILD 

THE STAR-GAZER 

AUTUMN AT SUNNYSLOPE 

MY FOREST OF ARDEN 

WINTER ROSES .... 

A CHRISTMAS TUNE 

PILGRIMAGE .... 

SOUVENIR 

TO CERTAIN SNOWFLAKES 

AT A KREISLER CONCERT 

AD REGINAM CCELI . 

CANDLEMAS DAY 



3 
4 
5 
6 
7 
8 

10 
11 
12 
13 
14 
15 
16 
17 
18 
19 
20 
22 



THE OTHER CHRIST . . . .23 

WITH A VALENTINE BOUQUET . . 24 

COMPLINE 25 

NEXT SPRING AT SUNNYSLOPE . . 26 

SCHOOL 27 

OUR CHILDREN 28 

LIGHTS 29 

GOD'S CHORISTER 30 

SIC TE AMO 31 

AT EASTER 32 

ONE APRIL DAY 33 

EASTER VESPERS 34 

TO THE PIED PIPER 35 

MAY DAY 36 

FROM THE CREST 37 

SONG FOR THE MAY . . . .38 

NINE MEN'S MORRIS 39 

SPRING'S IMPERFECTION . . . .40 

WHITSUNTIDE 41 

A FAIRY TALE 42 

A PANTOMIME . . . . . .44 

vi 



STREETS 45 

OUR LADY OF THE BROOK ... 46 

A RONDEL 47 

BEATA BEATRIX 48 

MIDSUMMER'S EVE 49 

FLOWER CHIME 50 

GOD'S THOUGHT 52 

JEANNE D' ARC 53 

VALE ATQUE VALE 54 

NON OMNIS MORIAR . . . .55 

IN YEARS TO COME . . . .56 



VERSES FOR A LITTLE MAID 



"Infino a tanio che io nonpotessi 
piu degnamente trattare di lei" 





5T 




MY BREVIARY 




Mm 



F I could duly keep the Hours, 

After this sort I'd pray: — 
At Prime: God bless sweet Beatrice 
Rose 

Throughout the livelong day. 
At Terce : Fair thoughts like snowy doves 

On her forenoon attend. 
At Sext : Through mid-day's hurry grant 

Contentment to my friend. 
At None : As shadows purpler grow, 

Her eventide be light. 
At Compline: Under kindly stars, 
God keep her through the night. 



TO MASTER ROBERT HERRICK 

THOUGH, Herrick, thou hadst made such song, 
Had my young friend been thine, 
That she had lived through centuries 

Among thy maids divine; 
Because thou wast too early born 

Or she was born too late, 
I can't sincerely either one 
Of you commiserate. 

For had she lived in those old days, 

Who'd now inspire poor me? 
And how to-day, were she thy theme, 

Could I compete with thee? 
So thou dost lose what I have gained; — 

But would thy gift were mine, 
Her own sweet self to incorporate 

In one immortal line! 



THE HUMBLE-BEE 

A humble-bee since morning, 
■* ■** A-sheltering from the cold, 
Here in my book-lined room has clung 
To the window-curtain's fold, 

A tiny ghost of summer, 

From honied clover fields, 
And glory of the July suns 

And all that August yields. 

Poor little wraith! thou bringest 

Remembrance of a day 
Of fair blue skies, by bluer stream, 

With a child far, far away. 

As long as thou wilt tarry, 
For memory's sake I'll give 

A friendly welcome, but I fear 
Thou hast brief lease to live. 

Yet not unsung, thy passing : 

Thy visit I'll rehearse, 
And set it thus in numbers 

For Beatrice Rose's verse. 



SUNNYSLOPE 

' I S HE golden-rodded slope^exhales 

•*■ Pennyroyal's sweet perfume; 
With silk-lined milkweed, stalwart stands 
The timothy-grass's plume. 

And at the foot, the wooded brook, 
Where violets grow in spring, 

Sings as it slips to the river's blue, 
A song it alone can sing. 

But on the crest, through a poplar row, 

Thy fancy catches gleams 
Of the leaded panes of a timbered house- 

The roof-tree of thy dreams. 

Ah, lucky thou, one day to taste 

Fruition of thy hope, 
And see thy fancied homestead rise 

At happy Sunnyslope! 






WILL O' THE WISP SONG 

"Will, Will, 

Will o' the Wisp, 

Will you not wait for me?" 

I called as I saw his eerie light 

Under the swamp-oak tree. 

Will, Will, 

Will o' the Wisp, 

"Will you not tell," he cried, 

"Why I should wait in the summer night, 

For you by the rank marsh side?" 

"Will, Will, 

Will o' the Wisp, 

Will you not help me lift 

Some pirate's jewelled treasure-trove 

For a maiden's birthday gift?" 

Will, Will, 

Will o' the Wisp, 

Wilfully flew along 

With a merry laugh o'er the untrod fen, 

But left with me this song. 



TO CtESAR on his commentaries 

/^ RIM-FACED Caesar, hadst thou known, 

^-* After centuries had flown, 

Over thy stiff Latin prose 

Would be bending Beatrice Rose, 

Wouldst thou not therein have set, 

Like a sprig of mignonette, 

For a little maid to see, 

Some wee bit of poesy? 

Would there not, once in a while, 

O'er thy lips have crept a smile, 

And with thoughts of some far day, 

Ere thou grew'st too stern for play, 

Happy days long dead and gone, 

Ere thou crosst the Rubicon, 

Wouldst thou not have been inserting — 

Even at the risk of hurting 

Thy grave commentaries' tone — 

Hard as chiseled out of stone — 

Some such tale as youth enjoys, 

Of patrician girls and boys, 

Whom thou play'dst with once at home, 

Long ere thou hadst fame at Rome? 

Wouldst thou not have tried to enhance 

Thy plain facts with some romance, 

Wouldst thou not have given some notion 



8 



Of the color, life, the motion, 
Strangely wanting from the scene 
Where thou sayst thy hosts have been ? 

O, thou mighty Caesar's ghost ! 
I at least can make this boast : — 
Never lines that I've set down 
Bring to her young brow such frown 
As doth indirect discourse — 
Or is thy bridge construction worse? 
Caesar, keep the age-long glory 
Of thy commentaries' story — 
Not one whit I'll envy thee 
If I may but truly be — 
Guiltless though of Latin prose — 
The Laureate to Beatrice Rose. 



THE SPIRIT-CHILD 

T?OR three oft well-remembered days 
■*■ At last midsummer's tide, 
Within our groves of academe 
Didst thou, dear child, abide. 

'Twas months ago, sweet Beatrice Rose, 
That thou this spot didst grace, 

Yet at each turn, I half expect 
To meet thee face to face. 

Was it some sleight of Oberon, 

Or Puck, the guileful elf, 
Or did Titania detach 

Some shadow of thyself 

That lingers in the pleasing gloom 

The maple trees cast down, 
And sanctifies the common things 

Of campus and of town? 

O, would I knew some pixy spell 

To lure within my door 
That spirit-child, sweet Rose, to haunt 

The house at Little Moor ! 



10 



THE STAR-GAZER 

/""^HILD, who steal'st from thy tent 
^-^ To lie 'neath the open sky, 
That thou may'st see the shooting stars, 
As the cool night wind sweeps by, 

What do they call to thee, 

Those couriers of flame, 
Speeding adown Heaven's great highway, 

With such unerring aim? 

I think thy quickened heart 

Is checked with a breathless awe, 
As the segment track of fire fades 

Obedient to law. 

Then a comforting thought of God 

And His care thy senses steep; 
Till a sigh and a smile I should bless, could I see, 

Proclaim thee sweetly asleep. 



11 



A 



AUTUMN AT SUNNYSLOPE 

T Sunnyslope long weeks ago 

The golden-rod has ceased to blow; 

And willows all their leaves have shook 
To sail in yellow fleets the brook. 



Soon shall the ice once more enchain 
Its stream, now high with autumn rain; 
And coldly, stars, through many a night, 
Glint on "the farm," enrapt in white. 

While I in still more frigid clime 
Shall oft recall last summertime; 
And wander with thee in a dream 
Beside the willow-shaded stream. 

Yet patiently could I abide 

The never-ending wintertide 

Were but vouchsafed to me this hope: 
Some day when spring's at Sunnyslope, 

Beside the brook again set free 

To gather violets with thee. 



12 



MY FOREST OF ARDEN 

(~\ were this glade but Arden grove, 

^^ Where thou, dear child, mightst daily rove, 

And had I but Orlando's youth, 

Instead of twice his years, forsooth, 

I'd hang upon this trysting-tree 

A sonnet every morn for thee. 

And screened behind some leavy brake, 
I'd spy to see if for my sake 
Thou prizedst my rhyme, or but too plain 
The curling lip proclaimed disdain. 

Ah, if that last, I think no more 
I could my songs for thee outpour. 
So, well for me, that far away 
Thou livest thy girlhood day by day, 
And by thy Susquehanna's stream 
Mayst not break instantly my dream. 

Thus be my glade still Arden grove, 
Where thou, dear child, mayst daily rove, 
And be this still our trysting-tree, 
Where fancy hangs my verse for thee. 



13 



WINTER ROSES 

\\ J HEN first we met, June wore the flower 

* " Whose name in all my songs 
To you half mystically, child, 
So fittingly belongs. 

Now e'en my hardy buckthorn's leaves 

Lie 'neath the early snows; 
How can I sing of wintertide 

For thee, sweet Beatrice Rose! 

Who, save in fancy, Y ve ne'er seen 

Except in summer weather, 
When, as Midsummer's Eve drew on, 

We two were friends together. 

But if 'tis granted me to see 

How fair that flower still blows 
Upon thy cheeks in wintry days, 

I'll make a song, sweet Rose. 

So, say not nay, but bid me come, 

And then all through my tune 
Of January, howe'er faint, 

There'll be some strain of June. 



14 



A CHRISTMAS TUNE 

npHE Magi brought the Christ Child 

*■* Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 
I 'd make a gift to a little child; 
But what can I send to her? 

The gold was for Our Lord, as King; 

The incense, for the Priest; 
The myrrh was for the agony 

He bore for e'en the least. 

Not one of these — not even gold, 

Had I the gold to send — 
Were fitting gift for me to make 

Unto my little friend. 

But when the lowly shepherds came, 

Perhaps one piped an air, 
A rude, crude thing, but best he knew, 

So Jesus found it fair. 

So now another piper 

His Christmas music blows, 
With what poor skill is^granted him, 

To greet sweet Beatrice Rose. 



15 



PILGRIMAGE 

T'D journey on to far Cathay, 
•*■ My heart a-singing all the way, 
If smiling at some city gate, 
A certain child for me would wait. 

The rainbow's track from east to west 
I'd gladly follow on my quest, 
Quite heedless of the pot of gold 
If that dear child I might behold. 

No pilgrimage could be too far, 
E'en from the earth to farthest star, 
If only when my travels close, 
I there should find sweet Beatrice Rose. 



16 



SOUVENIR 

PILGRIMS and palmers, what brought they home, 
-*■ Coming from Mecca, Jerusalem, Rome? 
Chaplets and palm boughs, and quaint scallop shell, 
And many a tale by the fire to tell. 

Home from my journey, what do I bring 
Of relics to show, of adventures to sing? 
Only a poignantly sweet memory 
Of a walk by the winter-locked river with thee. 



17 



TO CERTAIN SNOWFLAKES 

f\ STUPID little snowflakes, 
^-^ Never to know nor care, 
What happy fate was yours to cling 
To Beatrice Rose's hair. 

O stupid little snowflakes, 
Never to know how sweet 

To strew as 'twere a white-rose path 
Before her dainty feet. 

But stupidest of snowflakes 

That felt no thrill of bliss 
When you emprinted as you fell 

On her dear lips a kiss ! 



18 



AT A KREISLER CONCERT 

I sat one evening while a master hand 
Drew strains exquisite from his violin, 
And old musicians dead and gone trooped in, 
Pale voyageurs from out the Silent Land. 
What wistful faces saw I in that band: — 
Van Beethoven with his Titanic brow, 
Schubert — life's symphony completed now — 
And one, an unknown black from Afric strand. 

But swiftly I 'd have fled the concert-room, 
Harmonic flutings all have given o'er, 

No double-stoppings should have me beguiled, 
Might I by hastening through the wintry gloom, 
And finding welcome at a certain door, 

Have listened to the talk of one dear child. 



19 



AD REGINAM CCELI 

BLOWING aye in Paradise, 
Hail, O mystic Rose ! 
Rose without a thorn, 
From whom little Christ was born 
Still a maid, yet mother, too, 
Hear the prayer I make to you, 
O Regina Cceli ! 

Blossoms here in earthly fields, 
Yet another Rose, 

Rose without a thorn, 

From whom all my songs are born, 
Maid and little mystic mother, 
To whom more than any other 

All my best is due. 

Since your mystery she shares, 
Though she's never prayed to you, 

Nor an Ave sung 

When the Angelus has rung, 
Guard her daily as she grows 
More and more the perfect Rose, 

Rosa sine spina! 



20 



And for me, your faithless son, 
Erring on this darksome road 

Of my pilgrimage, 

Forgetting oft my heritage, 
Entreat one day sufficient grace 
That I meet her face to face 

At high Heaven's gate. 



21 



CANDLEMAS DAY 

TF Candlemas Day were dull or clear, 

■*■ What should I care if thou wert here? 

I 'd need no omens of the sky 

To forecast spring wert thou but by. 

Not half but wholly past away, 

The winter then would be mid-May, 

Laneside and meadow cast their snows 

To greet with verdure Beatrice Rose; 

And in my silent, lonely room 

Thy presence would dispel all gloom; 

The smouldering fire would leap in flame 

At conjuration of thy name; 

And life become both fair and good 

At such untold beatitude. 



22 



THE OTHER CHRIST 

T DO not ask the great grave Christ 
■*■ My humble home to share, 
And daily show His wounded side, 
Pierced hands, and matted hair. 

But if a tiny hand unscathed 
By aught save childish play 

In lanes and fields of Nazareth, 
Should steal in mine one day, 

To thee, I 'd lead the little Christ, 
New come from Heaven's bliss, 

And see Him lift His rosebud lips 
For thee, dear child, to kiss. 

And then a penny-pipe, or ball, 
Or Teddy-bear you 'd bring, 

And smile to see what simple gift 
Could please our little King. 



23 



I 



WITH A VALENTINE BOUQUET 

WOULD indite at Valentines 

For you, dear child, some comely lines, 

But since e'en Homer sometimes nods, 

Accept in lieu, 

Befitting you, 

This perfect poetry of God's. 



24 



COMPLINE 

p\EAR Sleepyhead, the bell tolls slow 
-*^ The hour when thou to bed must go: 
And cares of lessons, learned or not, 
Are straight in lands of dreams forgot; 

While I 'm repeating at this time, 
Though far away, the homely rhyme: — 
"God bless thy house from roof to floor; 
The twelve apostles guard thy door!" 

And then the vision comes to me 
Of closer warders over thee : 
u Four great angels round thy bed, 
Two at the feet, and two at the head." 

And once again I would rehearse 
For thee another childhood's verse : 
That Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John 
May bless the bed thou liest on. 



Evangelists and angels four, 

And all the apostles at the door, 

Now and forever blessed be 

Who serve their God by guarding thee. 



25 



NEXT SPRING AT SUNNYSLOPE 



o 



IF next April by your brook 
You 're like to find no single nook 
Where grows the heavenly violet, 
I pray you, ere you may regret, 
Have one fair spot with them beset. 

And if 'tis likely too in May 
No thrushes there shall close the day, 
Then please entice — I know not how — 
Your presence there should be enow — 
Such songster to some topmost bow. 

And when the June light longer glows, 
Let there be blowing many a rose; 
And O, that through the twilit vale 
On St. John's Eve there might not fail 
The music of a nightingale. 



26 



SCHOOL 

WHEN the hour for school approaches, 
Down the river road she goes 
To her lessons — O, how lucky, 

They who teach sweet Beatrice Rose! 

Whether it be "horrid Caesar," 

Or the unknown quantity, 
French verbs without rhyme or reason, 

Tennyson, or Malory. 

O, I think the dullest lesson 

Were she pupil unto me, 
Would for me become a wonder 

And a heavenly ecstasy. 

Though I formally ensconced me 

In the grave professor's chair, 
From her pure heart I 'd drink wisdom 

And become her pupil there. 



27 



OUR CHILDREN 

' I k HE songs which I have made of late— 

■*• They are not mine alone, 
For without thee, dear child, I know 
I had not sung one tone. 

They are our offspring — yours and mine — 
You need not blush to hear it — 

And you must love them, too, my dear, 
These children of the spirit. 



28 



LIGHTS 

/^\UT from the town I walk to-night 
^^ Across the crusted snow; 
The winds as through stiff frozen shrouds 
Mid icy pine trees blow. 

Upon the dark blue overhead 

Great fleets are under sail; 
With red of port and starboard's green, 

And now a rocket's trail. 

And steady lamps, as on some coast, 

Across the vast deep play; 
While some tall barque, now lost to sight, 

Has left the Milky Way! 

There seem to be enow of lights 

Upon that boundless foam 
For watch and helmsman through the dark 

To bring their craft safe home. 

But I, I need but two as guides: — 

God, in the heavenly blue; 
And on this earth, O dearest child, 

What other one but you? 



29 



GOD'S CHORISTER 

/~\ SIT not often in the choir stall, 
^^ Hymning His praises Who is Lord of All, 
Lest He bethink Him how thy voice and face 
Would His fair choristers in Heaven grace, 
And snatch thee from us, who so need thee here. 



30 



SIC TE AMO 

CO runs the legend writ beneath 
^ The little Christ who stands 
To welcome you, sweet Beatrice Rose, 
With outstretched arms and hands. 

Yes, day by day He waits, my child, 

He waits nor ever fears 
But you will come to Him at last 

Though it be years and years. 

Ah, little Christ, I, too, await; 

So, give Thy grace to me 
That I may wait without despair 

Though till eternity. 



31 



AT EASTER 

/^UT from the tomb, the Christ; 
^^ Out from the earth, the flower: 
Out from my heart, the song. 
All three to thee belong. 



32 



ONE APRIL DAY 

TD ESIDE the Susquehanna's tranquil stream, 

■*^ Even upon this April day I see 
The wreck of winter's maddest revelry, 

The saplings bent as in the Ice King's dream. 

Yet shall the gentle power of April beam 

On their young boughs, and soon, in days to be, 
Evoke the spirit of the sleeping tree, 

Newly to rise, with tender leaves agleam. 

So dost thou lay on me thy magic spell, 
Lifting my heart again to sing, 
After the bitterness of wintertide, 
Glad if of song there yet in me may dwell 
Enough to memorize this day of spring, 
Recalling how we walked the riverside. 



33 



EASTER VESPERS 

P\REAR fell the Easter Sunday night, 
*-* Foul with unwelcomest of snows, 
And in the west a cheerless light, 
As if Lord Jesus never rose. 

Then, down a lane you walked last June, 
A redbreast, mid the sleet and hail, 

Triumphantly poured forth his tune 
As 'twere midsummer's nightingale. 



34 



TO THE PIED PIPER 

r\ PIPER of old Hamlin town, 

^^ Who brought the children running down 

In joyous flocks to follow thee, 

Impart one tithe your skill to me 

That I may play so wondrous sweet 

As to entice her dainty feet 

To come a-dancing to the door 

To follow me the wide world o'er — 

Or if not that, at least one day 

To help with me bring in the May; 

Then, if of guilders I had store, 

The thousand owed and many more 

To you I 'd see were quickly paid 

And think the bargain cheaply made. 



35 



MAY DAY 

T3 ETIMES on May Day morning, 

■*-* Ere the bell for Prime had rung, 

To the pines' aeolian music 

The Angelus I sung; 

Yet with the Queen of Heaven 

Oft mingled thoughts of thee, 

Ere thou, dear child, went feasting 

'Neath budding greenwood tree. 

So, on from dawn to Vespers, 

Light filled so full my day 

As made my heart, tuned to the spheres, 

Go singing such a way 

E'en to my end I shall recall 

Right well that First of May. 



36 



FROM THE CREST 

AS I was going down the hill, 
I met a little child, 
With morning glory in her face, 
Who asked me, as she smiled : 
"O, whither are you going, sir, 

Upon the downward way 
When such a road climbs up the hill 
Upon a morn of May?" 

And so I turned about my steps 

And we two climbed the crest, 
And there before us lay the world 

As 'neath an eagle's nest: 
We saw the ploughman in the field, 

And ships upon the sea, 
And over all, the blue, blue sky, 

That smiled on her and me. 

O, blessings on sweet Beatrice Rose, 

Who, on that morn of May, 
Once turned me to the upward road 

With hawthorn all the way, 
Till I in such sweet company 

With clearer eyes could view 
The sunlit world below unfurled 

Beneath high heaven's blue. 

37 



SONG FOR THE MAY 

A LL on the First of Mary, 
•*• ^ And at the break o' day, 
I 'd rise my sweet, 
Sweet child to greet, 
And we 'd bring in the May. 

Full tenderly and meekly, 
With wreath of laurel green, 

Where intertwine 

Fair sops-in-wine, 
I 'd crown her as my queen. 

Throned by the ribboned Maypole, 
So true she 'd look the part, 

I 'd lay before 

Whom we adore, — 
Hers to command — my heart! 



38 



NINE MEN'S MORRIS 

T)OETS' loves call me in vain: 
-*- Lalage I 'd leave to Horace, 
Could I sit with you again, 

Playing you at Nine Men's Morris. 

Herrick, too, I 'd toss away, 

With his Phyllis, Prue, and Doris, 

Could I play with you to-day, 

Pegging out our Nine Men's Morris. 

Lassies Bobbie Burns forsook, 
I, too, 'd leave to Jock and Joris. 

What to me is any book, 

Playing you at Nine Men's Morris ! 



39 



SPRING'S IMPERFECTION 

QOMETHING'S lacking from the Spring 

^ Not the robin's carolling; 

Not the blossom-burgeoned trees; 

Not the perfume-laden breeze; 

Not the sweeping river's blue : 

Nay, none of these, dear child, — but you ! 



40 



WHITSUNTIDE 

l\yT Y heart cries out ! 
*-*-*■ Exquisite pain ! 
Memory dazzles: — 

Once again 
The trees flare forth 

In white and green 
Till more and more 

Each day the scene 
Grows like the June 

Of yesteryear 
And Saint John's Eve 

The child was here. 



41 



A FAIRY TALE 

T F Cinderella's godmother 

-■- From faery lands were here, 

Though I 've no mice nor pumpkin, yet 

I'd find — O, never fear! — 
Somewhat for her to conjure with 

And shape my equipage, 
And lop a score of years and more 

Straight from my hateful age. 
And then — hard task! — she'd magic me 

Fit for such gay array 
And set me down in a certain town 

Full many miles away. 
And I 'd come rolling up the road, 

All in a coach and four, 
With footmen wigged and buckled-shoon'd, 

And pull up at your door; 
Then, with some spell, I 'd whisk you off 

To faery realms of gold, 
And there we 'd live a thousand years, 

And never should grow old, 
And all the fascinating prince 

Gave to the little lass, 
Who only could in all his realm 

Put on the shoe of glass, 



42 



All that and more, I 'd lay before 
Your dainty feet, my dear, 

If Cinderella's godmother 
From faery lands were here. 



43 



A PANTOMIME 

\\ 7 ERE you but playing Pierrette, 

* * And I were Pierrot, 
All in a moonlit garden-set, — 
Were you but playing Pierrette 
Amid the box and mignonette, 

All other roles I would forego, 
Were you but playing Pierrette, 

And I were Pierrot. 



44 



STREETS 

T'VE walked the capitals abroad: — 
**■ In Edinboro town, 
The High Street that from Castle Hill 
To Holyrood slopes down; 

Along the Strand, up Ludgate Hill 
To Paul's I 've picked my way; 

And off from Piccadilly turned, 
Where Regent's shops are gay; 

Along the High in Oxford, oft, 
Dream town of storied knowledge, 

Beset with flaking walls and towers 
Of many a hoary college; 

Up to the Opera I 've strolled, 
Across the Place Vendome, 

Although, alas ! I 've not found true 
That all roads lead to Rome. 

But O, this afternoon in June, 

I 'd nowhere rather be 
Than on thy riverskirted road, 

Sweet Beatrice Rose, with thee ! 



45 



OUR LADY OF THE BROOK 

( For a Picture ) 

VISION of girlhood radiant, 
Sister of sunshine and the breeze, 
And each shy genius of the place, 
Nereids, nymphs, and dryades. 

What luck to arrest from fleeting time 
That moment I her picture took, 

As on the stream-kissed stones she poised- 
Our little Lady of the Brook! 



46 



A RONDEL 

"^ HOUGH summer's beauty fade away, 
■*• Still blooms sweet Beatrice Rose. 
And when the flower-bed of to-day 

Only a dim mound shows, 
Like to a child's grave, 'neath the snows, 

E'en then my heart can say : 
"Though summer's beauty fade away, 

Still blooms sweet Beatrice Rose!" 
And so the year wheels round to May, 

And brave the garden glows, 
Heedless of how all beauty goes 

Down every wind. Ah, nay ! 
Though summer's beauty fade away, 

Still blooms sweet Beatrice Rose! 



47 



BEATA BEATRIX 

CWEET Beatrice, I conjure with thy name, 

^ And out from song-land, dream-land, straight 
arise 
Fair wraiths that, seen through their dear laure- 
ate's eyes, 

Endue that word with everlasting fame; 

But chiefly one who gave the exalted aim 
To Dante, as beneath Firenze's skies, 
A little child, she passed in comely guise, 

And lit in him, as young, the undying flame. 

Ah, happy maid, but happier poet, too, 

Who with the soul to love, possessed the grace 
To write of her such lines as shall not end ! 
But woe is me, who, blest with knowing you, 
Am so unworthy of the singing race 
That I cannot immortalize my friend ! 



48 



MIDSUMMER'S EVE 

TO-DAY a wistful pilgrimage I paid 
To those blessed "stations," not of pain and 

woe, 
But where a dear child walked one year ago, 
And all the way a Via Sacra made: — 
The village street where we together strayed ; 
The lawns her dainty feet did know; 
Elm aisles through which we saw that sunset glow 
Whose light from out my memory shall not fade. 

And now draws on the Vigil of Saint John, 
A moonlit, glamorous Midsummer's Eve : 
With flitting lamps like fireflies appear 
The Queen Titania and King Oberon 

And that sly elf who taught her how to weave 
A spell to bind me through the livelong year ! 



49 



A 



FLOWER CHIME 

S down the path, the June breeze blows, 
Music from the garden swells, 
Rung from a thousand flower-bells: — 
Beatrice Rose ! Beatrice Rose ! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice Rose !" 



Music caught by only those 

Who with eye as well as ear 
Heaven's high melodies can hear 
"Beatrice Rose! Beatrice Rose! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice Rose!" 

So until sweet summer goes, 

Tiny cups and tongues aswing, 
Daintily their changes ring : — 
Beatrice Rose! Beatrice Rose! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice Rose!" 



50 



And when broken 'neath the snows 
Lie the bells of summertime 
Still my memory will chime : 
" Beatrice Rose ! Beatrice Rose ! 
Beatrice! 
Beatrice ! 
Beatrice Rose!" 



51 



GOD'S THOUGHT 

TF only as God's thoughts we live, 
**• What lovely thought had He, 
When in this world of rain and shine, 
He one time thought of thee ! 

He who conceived the rose, the stars, 
The rainbow's perfect bend, 

Was not content until at last 
He thought my little friend. 



52 



JEANNE D' ARC 

¥ F Jeanne d' Arc boldly charging 
*■• Her fierce Burgundian foes 
Showed the fearless grace 
And flower-like face 
Of thee, sweet Beatrice Rose, 
And I had been her page-boy, 
The lowest in degree, 
I 'd gladly died 
Close by her side 
Had she smiled down on me. 

O, little Saint of my day, 

Thou know'st 'tis but in dreams, 

Across long miles 

Such vision smiles, 
Thy mounted figure gleams; 
Nor can I service tender: 
Stout hand nor open purse; 

But at thy feet 

I lay as meet 
The tribute of my verse ! 



53 



VALE ATQUE VALE 

/^ OOD-BYE, good-bye to school days, 
^-* In the school-house by the shore : 
Here other maids will ply their tasks, 
But you will come no more. 

No more from westward windows, 
You "11 see the sunlight gleam, 

In moments stolen from your book, 
On Susquehanna's stream, 

And sense the pensive music 

Its ceaseless waters sing: — 
That youth forever fleets away 

And then good-bye to spring. 

And though bright days await you 

In a school far, far away, 
To the school upon the river's-bank 

You bid farewell to-day. 

And O, your eyes are merry ! 

Alas, 'tis with a sigh 
I see you through the door-way dance, 

And hear you laugh, "Good-bye!" 



54 



NON OMNIS MORIAR 

SHOULDEST thou in slightest measure, 
Dearest child, my verses treasure, 

So that they 're not cast aside, 

But with thine and thee abide, 
Then perchance one family 
Long may hold in memory, 

After his last song shall close, 

The Laureate of Beatrice Rose. 
Yea, perchance, some other child, 
Named for thee, shall be beguiled 

By my songs to say, "Pray tell 

Who loved Beatrice Rose so well?" 
A solemn, but a healing thought 
'Tis to hope my songs have bought 

Something, child, with thine and thee 

Of an immortality. 



55 



IN YEARS TO COME 

T PRAY thee on some winter's night 
-*- In years to come, by candle light, 
Or while on thee the hearth-fire glows, 
Reread my songs, sweet Beatrice Rose. 

And murmur 'twixt the lines, I pray, 
All that I would but must not say ; 
Then 'cross the years, far in the dark, 
Mine ears though dull in death will hark. 

And if upon Midsummer's Eves 
Thou shouldst again turn o'er these leaves, 
And then half tenderly shouldst smile, 
I shall rest satisfied the while. 




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